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Monday, 12 September 2005

Doubtless this week's rant could easily have continued on for at leastanother few thousand words worth of frustrations. But in order that I mightseek some solace in the last knockings of some sensational cricket, I'vedecided to spare you lucky bleeders for once

I guess I should also apologise to any of you who've already had themisfortune to be burdened by various versions of the following moan.

Big LoveBernard

PS. Bloomin' typical, sod's law has ensured that the second I stop toconcentrate fully on the cricket, Pietersen's marvelous innings bites thedust_______________________________________________________

Apoplectic Meets Epileptic

How considerate of those SOBs at Sky to arrange a 5.15 KO for one ofour longest schleps of the season (over 500 mile round trip!). As aconsequence it would've been cutting it very fine if I was to catch the lasttrain home. In fact if I hadn't been fortunate enough to blag a lift backfrom a kindly Gooner pal, I probably would have left long before our lastminute consolation goal, along with a smattering of other Arsenal fans whodidn't fancy the prospect of spending all night on a station platform.

I was actually tempted to stop at home and watch the cricket. If Iwas more of a patriot, I might well have done so. Murphy's Law would'veguaranteed that my decision invoked the rain which would’ve prevented playfor the entire day and I'd have been responsible for improving England'schances of retaining the Ashes. Nevertheless as keen as I've been to seeVaughan and co. stick it to those arrogant Antipodeans, there was no way Iwas going to miss out on this particular match. After all Boro's Riversidehome has proved to be one of the Arsenal's happiest hunting grounds inrecent times.

Moreover it might be a doddle getting up and driving to any of ourfive London derbies, but no matter what the outcome, it's as if I'm obligedto endure such dreadfully exhausting outings, by way of paying my dues forthe pleasure I expect to receive during the rest of the season. And boy do Ifeel as if we paid in full on Saturday!

I should have recognised that the omens weren't in our favour, fromthe moment I realised Henry was out injured (either that or the absence of adecent bowel movement on Saturday morning!). After arriving on the train Idecided to time my walk to the ground, in case my ride home didn't work out.But when the plethora of replica shirts on the High Street began toevaporate, I soon realised I wasn't on the right track. Thankfully afriendly Teesider showed me the route and as we marched along the mile orso, I did my best to make conversation.

I recounted that their latest summer signing, Rochemback, had stuckin my mind ever since I'd seen him score a 40-yard screamer for Barca, inthe Amsterdam tournament 3 summers back. But when I suggested Boro mighthave a good chance of beating us, this chap explained that he was moreconcerned with avoiding a repeat of the fit he'd suffered at the last match."Surely you didn't play that badly?" Apparently the poor bloke suffered about of epilepsy!

In addition to the Boro fans who must’ve stopped at home in theirdroves to watch the live broadcast (as evidenced by large swathes of emptyseats), I was disappointed by the absence of the white police horse, whichhas been on duty on several recent, far more pleasurable Riverside romps.Boro fans are in the habit of bringing tidbits for the huge stallion and inreturn the horse expresses its gratitude by stamping his front hoof.

Events on the pitch aside (especially Saturday's calamitous example),as a sentimental old bugger, my season is made up of such trifling awaydayidiosyncrasies. During a time of such drastic change, I suppose I’m all themore sensitive to their passing. There's no denying the magnificence of thenew stadium, which has risen from the Drayton Park dust to dominate ourNorth London skyline. Yet as the new countdown clock in one corner ofHighbury ticks away, inexorably, towards the day of our eventual departure,almost daily, I grow increasingly fearful that I will end up watchingfootball, but definitely not the beautiful game as I've always known it.

The club can line the walls of the new gaff with the best Italianmarble money can buy. Yet whatever the result, in truth there’s no hidingfrom the fact that that it will be nigh on impossible to recreate Highbury’scertain ‘je ne sais quoi”, that special aura of reverence and traditionwhich oozes from the very veins of our old stadium’s ancient stone walls.

What’s more, as the marketing men focus on hiving off all the poshpitches to the Gooner high-rollers, whilst paying little more than lipservice to the desires and sensitivities of those punters with less than acouple of grand’s worth of disposable income, I live in absolute dread of aday when we might end up watching 22 mercenary prima donnas, kicking a ballaround in an albeit spectacular arena, but with less soul than theBirmingham NEC.

At least there’s some consolation with the imminent upheaval (whoeversaid that pregnancy and moving home were the 2 most traumatic eventsobviously wasn’t an Arsenal fan), as I’m unlikely to get too hot under thecollar over Saturday’s hopeless effort, while fretting about the club’sentire future. Apparently the same cannot be said about Arsène Wenger, asour manager is already showing signs that he’s feeling the pressure.

We’ve grown accustomed to the sight of our inscrutable gaffer givingnothing away on the bench, often claiming in the interests of diplomacy notto have seen the most controversial events. Whereas we witnessed him totallylosing his rag on the touchline this weekend, gesticulating with wildindignation over at least a couple of Riley’s dubious decisions. Perhapshe’s taken a leaf out of Fergie’s book by trying to influence the ref. Orwas Wenger merely venting his own anger at the failings of his selectionpolicy. No matter how often Arsène assures us of our ability to mount acredible challenge, we remain a long way (9 points to date!) from havingChelsea’s rotational luxuries. Quite frankly these days even Spurs squadseems to have more depth in strength! A fact which leaves few of us actuallybelieving in the fiction of the £30 million war-chest supposedly at Wenger’sdisposal.

As a result Arsène simply cannot afford to disrespect the likes ofBoro by “resting” Ljungberg, Senderos and Fabregas, especially without Titi.I believe we’re obliged to play our best XI at all times. If some tinkeringis unavoidable, then at least not at centre-back, where Touré and Senderosrequire the necessary constancy to develop an intuitive relationship,whereby each instinctively knows what the other will do in any givensituation.

Unlike all those Gooner who might want to strangle Cygan, I’ve somesympathy for Pascal. He might’ve been guilty of the almighty blunder whichgifted Boro their 2nd goal, but at least you can’t accuse our lumberingLurch of any lack of commitment. With Pires and Cole both looking like theyare merely going through the motions, all the others are having to graftthat much harder.

It’s also becoming increasingly obvious that even at less than 100%for the past couple of years, Paddy’s immense stature and presence lent therelative schnips alongside him in midfield a focal point. Since Vieira’sdeparture, as far as the opposition is concerned, the Arsenal present a farless daunting prospect. I’m beginning to feel like a broken record, butunless Hleb has an impact beyond our wildest dreams, or Giberto, our“invisible wall”, suddenly becomes incredibly visible, the Arsenal willcontinue to lack the sort of leadership necessary to turn a game around.

Admittedly the confidence that Boro so obviously lacked at kick-off,was boosted by taking the lead with their first shot on target. However mostdepressing was that in the past the Arsenal would’ve been sufficientlypiqued, to apply a tidal wave of pressure. Whereas on Saturday, I sensed thegame was already up. Without a player with the strength of personality tolead the fightback, this costly loss felt almost inevitable from the momentwe conceded.

‘Am I bovvered?’ With Henry out for up to a month and Paddy puttingthe boot in by scoring for Juve, you can bet you’re sweet bippy! A faithrestoring party with the Swiss part-timers on Wednesday won’t be a panacea,but it would serve as a bloomin’ good palliative!